The Once and Future Usurper
by NorthWindNorth
Summary: A snowy day in Nottingham is mildly ruined by the appearance of the legendary King Arthur, who isn't as nice as the legends would like you to believe. The Doctor tries to stop him, and meets his first companion in the process. ElevenOC 11OC, whichever. AU
1. Book thieving is neither big nor clever

A.N: So, David Tennant is gone, and yes, I am in mourning. However, I then watched the trailer with Matt Smith and came to the surprising realisation that he might be my Doctor. Which is an epic feat on his behalf, seeing as I have never seen him in a full episode of anything. Oh well!

I started this on Tuesday, when the snow was falling over where I lived, and which was ultimately the cause of me being stuck on a bus for six hours. Yeah.

This is an ElevenOC, because he needs a little love in his life.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who because if I did, the Doc would manage to hold down a steady relationship for once in his many lives. Also don't own any brand names, book titles, or the life of Phillip Reeve, and I apologise for what I did with the geography of Nottingham University and the city of Nottingham itself. I'm from Sheffield, so all place names are muddled around or just completely made up.

UNBETAD!

* * *

The main thing wrong with Nottingham University's flagship library was that its shelves were made of metal. It turned something fascinating and wonderful into a cold and clinical place of debilitating panic, as students scurried about, always studying for one exam or another. There was no peace and quiet to be found there, and so for that very reason Laura had beaten a hasty retreat back to the fiction library for a spot of light reading.

The Thwaite and Morvin Library had been generously funded by the two tradesmen who had given it it's name, and was built in the back of beyond, it's obscurity further cemented by the fact that the new fangled sports centre had been constructed in front of it. Naturally the fiction library was forgotten by all but the most hardcore of fans who faced the long trek regularly for anything from Jane Austen to the Harry Potter books. The library was well stocked, as Mrs. Pemberley-Finch, the librarian, was rather overzealous in her book ordering. She was well liked amongst the library's patrons though, as she would always lend a sympathetic ear to those who needed it, while churning out killer cups of tea.

Because of the poky size of the building, Mrs. P-F had no staff, though she got around this difficulty by often leaving day to day running to the most regular visitors, who turned up often enough that they could organise the place blindfolded. One such regular was the aforementioned Laura, who was trying to slog her way through a chunky paperback. It'd looked promising at first, but had swiftly descended into repetitive and unnecessary paragraphs about the male protagonist's eyes. Still, there was no use starting something if you weren't going to finish it, and so Laura trudged on, squinting desperately as the stupidly banal paragraphs disappeared into smudgy black lines as her concentration waned.

It wasn't all her fault though. If it were, this story wouldn't have even existed.

You see, there was only one other visitor in the library at that moment. He was being rather annoying, actually, and this wasn't helping Laura's patience. He tore up and down the aisles, pulling off books at random before slamming them down so loudly that even Laura could her them, even though she had her earphones in and was listening to all of Kate Nash's shouty songs.

She risked a quick glance up to the front desk; Mrs. P-F wasn't there, and the door to the back office was closed. This was a secret code for, "Alas, I cannot trouble myself with the heathen menace in my library. Deal with him, unpaid volunteer, deal with him!"

Being rather bad at confrontation, the unpaid volunteer decided to instead stick her nose in her novel and spy on the callous book handler intently for clues to his motive. He was probably a mature student as he looked about twenty-five or six, though he seemed to have found his clothes in the wrong century. No one but the stuffiest professor wore tweed anymore, and she caught a glimpse of a bow tie and red braces every time his jacket moved, which was often as he seemed fond of madly waving his arms around.

His shoulders were quite broad, though his legs were spindly and his movements coltish, proven by his mad dash along the carpets of the library.

_Spindly legs aside,_ mused Laura, (as her pretence of reading began to fail with every inch that the book lowered itself towards the desk) _he's not that bad looking. The floppy hair works for him, it makes him look intelligent._

She was broken out of her reverie by an exceptionally large amount of cursing from the man, who appeared to have obtained a paper cut. This prompted Laura to drop all the silly thoughts of about his odd attractiveness and instead gave her the swift kick up the arse that she needed to go and take him to task. Quickly pulling her earphones out, she slung them around her neck, before following it up with a decisive closing of her book, which garnered the attention of the man immediately. He fixed a sheepish expression onto his face as she made her was towards him.

"Can I help you?"

"Well, ah…yes, I suppose," He ventured, nervously licking his lips as he cast around for something to say to the one woman army who was standing in the way of his haphazard tirade against literature.

"Do you perhaps need a book?" said Laura rather dryly, as she folded her arms across her chest in a conscious effort to radiate authority.

"I do!" cried the man cheerily, obviously deciding that enthusiasm was the best form of defence. "I need a book about a King, and-"

"Oh, no, I think you're in the wrong place." She cut in, feeling the hot blush creep up her neck at the forcefulness of her interruption.

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, this is the fiction library, all the history books are kept in the main library near the centre of campus."

"Oh, right. Well, that's ok, I needed a fiction story anyway." He paused, intertwining his fingers into the fluffy bits at the back of his hair, rocking backwards onto the heels of his Converse as he appeared to wait for the words to present to him.

"I need a book about King Arthur," He said finally, the balls of his feet coming into contact with the carpet with a thump.

Inwardly Laura winced. Did he have to kick up dust everywhere? "Any particular book in mind?"

He seemed thrown by the question. "Er, what do you have?"

"Oh…um, well…" She racked her brain as she mentally tried to take an inventory of every book she had ever read, and came up with one or two suggestions. "There's 'Over Sea and Under Stone' by Susan Cooper, although that's more about finding the Grail than King Arthur. Then there's the book adaptation of the TV series 'Merlin', but I reckon that's aimed at younger audiences."

"Have you got any books where Arthur's portrayed in a bad light?" The man asked tentatively, as if daring to assume there were such texts about the fabled King of the Britons would be seen as a personal insult to the unpaid volunteer before him.

Fortunately, the request didn't seem to bother Laura unduly, though she did think him strange for making it. "Sorry, I can only think of one."

His face lit up like a Christmas tree. "One is good. One is _lovely_."

Quickly plucking the offending book of the shelf, Laura held it out to the man. "It's called 'Here Lies Arthur' by Phillip Reeve. Arthur was meant to be the saviour of Albion and all that, but ended up as a mercenary King who killed some of his own closet friends."

He took the book from her, almost reverently. "Phillip Reeve, eh? That sounds about right. What else happens?"

"Sorry, I don't know." She'd genuinely forgotten; it was an age since she'd read the book. All Laura could remember was what she had told him already, and something about there being medieval cross dressers, though somehow she was sure he wouldn't benefit from this knowledge.

"Ah, ok. Thanks anyway." The man turned to go, but then spun around again so suddenly that he almost went head over heels. Rocking back onto his balance, he asked rather excitedly, "I don't suppose you could direct me to Besswick Square?"

"There's no such place," said Laura, after a moment's thought.

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure." She was too. Ever since migrating to Nottingham from her hometown of Sheffield, she'd made a point to get to know the new city carefully.

The man frowned. "Well then, why would he…if it didn't-" He broke off mid sentence, eyes wide as he stumbled upon some missing puzzle piece. "Of course! Has it really been that long?"

Laura watched with a rather apprehensive eye as he flung his arms about with glee, almost catching her on the side of the head with the Phillip Reeve book he still clutched. "Uh, sorry. Do you have a map of the University?"

"Yes…" came the cautious reply. She was still watching out for the waving book. "Over there, one the counter. You can take one, they're free."

"Thank you!" He beamed, far too grateful for what was allowed with the situation. With that, he left Laura standing in mild shock as he bolted towards the double doors, stopping only briefly to snatch up a map before sprinting out into the cold January air and the swirling snowflakes.

It was only after he'd disappeared into the falling mass of white that Laura realised what she'd forgotten.

"Oh no, wait!" She called after him, rather feebly. "I need to stamp your book out!"

But it was too late; the man and his bow tie had gone.

* * *

It took her twenty minutes to decide to follow him.

Now, this seems like a relatively short time in the grand scheme of things, but it was perfectly long enough for Laura to run through their entire exchange about three times, and also to give her chance to analyse exactly why the hell he wanted a book about an evil King Arthur. To be honest, it wasn't everybody's first pick, and the fact that he wanted it specifically, combined with the seemingly desperate need to go somewhere that didn't exist had piqued her curiosity.

And there was a tiny part of herself that wanted to admit that she'd rather like to get to know the man who'd smiled at her so brilliantly, but the sensible part of her did a good job of beating the rebellious faction down with an imaginary cricket bat.

Though he did have an exceptionally lovely voice.

_Shut up._

Besides all that, it was only fair that she go after him. He'd taken the book without he even going through the proper procedures, and the only way they could ever be sure of getting it back was if she stalked him and found out his name.

Well, not stalked him. More like followed him diligently. Yes, that was it.

The only problem (and to be honest, it was a big one) was the fact that she had no idea how to find him. Laura supposed she could ask at the front desk whether they'd seen a young man with a bow tie, but it probably wouldn't work. The front desk were good, but they weren't that good. You'd have to be superhuman or something to distinguish one student from the masses enrolled at Nottingham University, even if the person in question had an odd fashion sense.

Enquiring was out of the question, then.

She scratched at the wooden surface of the desk with her thumbnail, going over the conversation again in an effort to find some kind of pointer in the right direction. He had asked about a place called Besswick Square, but Laura had absolutely no idea where that was. She scrunched her eyebrows together as she dug her nail deeper into the groove of the table; she was sure she was missing something. He'd mentioned Besswick Square, been confused about it's non-existence, and then had said something about it being that long, which suggested that he'd been away for a while.

Laura latched onto that thought, and the theory presented itself to her with relatively little trouble. Obviously there'd originally been somewhere called Besswick Square, but its name had changed. He'd probably moved away or been misinformed or something. The solution to finding her missing book thief would be to stop off at the Map Room in the Geography Department, before moving onto what was until recently Besswick Square.

Simple. And not a bad plan, considering how Laura's plans usually went. (She tried not to dwell on the unfortunate incident with the cat that was injured but not)

With that, Laura jumped up, snatching her various winter clothing from the back of her high-backed chair, before proceeding to struggle into them. She jogged towards the doors, before doubling back as she remembered her book, and then set off again, calling a quick, "Goodbye, Mrs. P-F!" as she too sprinted out of the door.

Unsurprisingly, the snow was more than a bit cold, and she shuddered involuntarily at the sudden shock of the biting temperature. Ducking her head out of the driving snowflakes, she almost collided with another student who was exiting the swimming centre. They nodded to each other, more out of new found comradeship brought on by the snow than actual familiarity, and then they were both going their separate ways again; the boy with a folder over his head to protect his wet hair, and Laura with her hand held out in front of her face as a defence against the gusty wind and passing lampposts.

Making a mental note to buy a baseball cap that had a brim large enough to protect her eyes, as the rather stupid beret affair she was wearing now was as much use as a chocolate teapot, (it even had a pom-pom) Laura sped up, half sliding on the ice as she saw the outline of the Humanities building against the dull skyline. The sight of it induced bright and lovely thoughts of things like radiators, and therefore she wasn't really concentrating as much as she should have been when she hurried into the entrance hall of building. Her boot slipped on the polished floor, and she skidded all the way across the room before landing in a heap against the opposite wall.

"Thirty-four," remarked the on duty desk monitor, who marked off number on a tally, which adorned the blackboard behind him.

The fact that she was the latest in a long line of people to do that only lessened the embarrassment slightly. "Is Haneef in?" Laura asked, as she stood up and brushed herself off, trying to appear unruffled.

The desk monitor nodded, his face twisted into that ugly grimace that occurs when people are trying desperately not to laugh.

"Right then," said poor Laura, and she set off towards the stairs, still sliding slightly on the wet floorboards.

* * *

The thing about Laura was that she wasn't at all popular in the traditional sense; in fact, she didn't have many friends. The ones she did have were the very best of friends though, and it was one such mate that she was on her way to visit. She'd known Haneef in secondary school, where they'd had several lessons together, and then they had gone to different colleges and had both lost touch. When she'd turned up at the University open day, they'd met again, and immediately fell back into the easy going friendship in which both parties pretend to barter affection by trading favours, but really have stopped keeping count long ago. Haneef was studying Cartography, and therefore was the perfect person to ask about maps.

When she'd rounded every winding corner in the ridiculously long corridor, which had obviously been designed by either an idiot or someone with a strange sense of humour, she finally pushed her way into the Map Room. Haneef was poring over an aerial photograph that was propped up on an architect's easel, but he moved away quickly when he saw who was at the door. "Look what the cat dragged in! You look terrible." He swiftly reached out, pulling at one of the rat's tails that protruded out from under that ridiculous beret.

She did look rather shocking, but that was the least of her priorities right now. "That's very nice, but this isn't a social call."

He rolled his eyes, clearing a space on the corner of a desk so that she could perch, and she watched amusedly as he moved the displaced collection of mugs to an already cluttered shelf, where they would no doubt grow bacterial colonies and live in peace for the rest of their lives. "Another bloody favour, I might have guessed. What do you need this time?"

"I need a map."

"Oh wow, a map. And you came to the Map Room for it? Clever girl!"

"Hey! Enough of the heavy sarcasm." She retaliated instantly, scrunching up her nose in a rather childish gesture of annoyance. "There was a place called Besswick Square, but I think it's changed names now. I want to know where it is."

Haneef crossed the room to some bookshelves, the state of which made Laura shudder in disgust. He pulled off a volume, which she assumed contained disused place names, and flopped it down on a workbench, before running his index finger along the margin of the page. "Besskin…Bessweth…ah, here we go. Besswick Square. Name has been changed to…Woolgoose Square."

Now this name was familiar. "You mean that bit of land with the statues sandwiched between Goose Gate and Woolpack Lane?"

The cartographer pulled out a local map from between some unorganised sheets of paper and squinted, before nodding the affirmative. "Yeah, that's the one. It's near The Screen Room, you know, that arty cinema in Hockley Village?"

Before Laura could reply, a tousled head appeared from behind some post its, and rather strangely a wheelbarrow. "Oi, 'neef! Thought I told you to keep it down so I can kip for a bit!"

The head belonged to Jerry Mackintosh, a trainee cartography professor who preferred partying to sleeping, and sleeping to studying. Thus, he lived his life in a cycle of odd hours that not even the most hardy night shift worker could keep up with.

Haneef shot him a glance that was half fond, and half _oh would you please shut up?_ "Jerry, stop moaning. Laura's here."

"Is she?" The older man perked up considerably, and he battled his way into a standing position, before wading forwards. "Has she brought tea?"

He reached the desk at which the other two standing and conducted a closer inspection. "Oh, you've come to ask another favour. You're a bloody disappointment, lass."

"Then I shall soon be out of your hair," Laura said, rather sweetly, and was just turning to go when she was stopped by Jerry's exclamation of surprise.

"That's funny! I've been here a few years now, and not one person's even mentioned Besswick Square, and now two people ask after it in the same day!"

Her heart fluttered with mild excitement as she quickly realised whom the other person must be. "Oh really? Who was asking?"

"Odd chap, completely soaked through. Looked like a wet dog, and was waving around a campus map like his life depended on it. Wearing tweed too, the weirdo." Jerry paused from frowning at the open book he'd been looking at to gesture at Haneef. "Turned up when you went for a piss."

The younger man winced. "I'm sure she really didn't need to know that."

Laura hadn't even noticed her friend's embarrassment, as her attention was focused solely on the book in which Haneef had found the relevant name. "What do those numbers mean?"

Jerry took a quick glance. "1886. The date when the name was changed."

She shook her head in bewilderment, as she remembered the strange man's statement about it being so long, and her theory about him moving away. He wouldn't have been around for the name change if this date was accurate, and if he had been he would have been something like one hundred and twenty-four years old. Which wasn't possible.

Nonetheless, she still sprinted out of the Map Room as fast as she could, not even pausing to say goodbye to the two students in it.

"Bloody harebrained, that one." Jerry grumbled, before going back to his nap.

* * *

There, done.

Because it's an AU I don't have any specific deadlines; therefore it'll be updated sporadically, so that might be tomorrow. Or next week. Or three years from now. I fail at getting on with things.

Please review, because I like knowing what I've done well and what I've not. No flames please, but concrit is welcomed and encouraged.

Thanks for reading,

~NWN


	2. Blue is not your colour

A.N: Thank you all so much for your kind reviews, and I hope this chapter is good enough for you! This chapter was meant to be uploaded yesterday, but my laptop decided to turn itself off and not awaken until now, haha.

The geography of Nottingham in this story has been aided wonderfully by Xbakiyalo, thank you!

Also thanks to MissZoey, my marvellous beta, who is epic and brilliant at ego boosting.

Disclaimer: I haven't even a hope of owning this.

* * *

When Laura had set out to find her book thief, she hadn't really thought about the masses of bitter snow falling from the heavens. In fact, she had gone out with the impression that finding her way to Besswick Square in a snowstorm was going to be a doddle.

Silly, uninformed child.

It turns out that when it's snowing enough to make the penguins worried then somehow the roads get icy and slippery, which in turn gives bus drivers an almost insane will to stay alive. To cut a long story short, no buses were running; this was because their operators had a working brain cell in their heads and had therefore not gone outside. Laura, however, was half shuffling and half sliding on her knees down a steep stretch of pavement, desperately trying to convince herself that it was indeed worth chasing after this man. She forced herself to remember his velvet voice and beaming smile and rewound her thoughts back to not a week ago, when she'd been having a chat with her roommate about such things.

"Carpe Diem! Seize the day!" Fay had cried.

Well, it was alright for her with her boyfriend of six months, but the world was never fair upon the lonesome single. When Laura had pointed this out, Fay had just laughed merrily, and informed her friend that if it weren't for a bit of confidence on her part then she would have never have even spoken to Joe. This had provoked a fit of giggles from Laura who – between wheezy gasps of laughter – had recalled just how loudly Fay had screamed at her future boyfriend after he had nudged her on the stairs, nearly spilling a cup of coffee onto her essay about nineteenth century pharmaceuticals.

But that was beside the point. Fay had been right; she could do with a little more confidence. And despite being a robber of novels, this man could be a prime candidate.

_It is worth doing this, _she told herself. Then, just for effect, she repeated it a little louder. _It is worth doing this!_

Though by this time she'd already crashed into a bus shelter after swinging around a corner too fast, so the positive thinking wasn't much help. In all honesty, Laura was thinking of packing the whole venture in. What Fay had said did ring true, but the thing was that deep down Laura knew she had meant something like starting up a rapport with the boy with the nice blue eyes from her Criminology lecture, and not the random (and certainly older) man who'd just gone into the library for the simple purpose of borrowing a book. Now the fact that she was trekking across half of Nottingham in ridiculously hostile weather, just to get to a place that he might not even be, indicated that there was something unnecessarily creepy about her behaviour. In fact, it practically qualified as stalking.

It was this realisation that caused Laura to slow her shambling gait into a stop, and she would have even turned back to face homewards if it weren't for the street sign that caught itself in the corner of her eye. Even through the driving mass of pure white that obscured half of it, she could still make out the name 'Goose Gate', and this development threw all her plans to the four corners of the wind. If she was on Goose Gate now, then she was less than two minutes away from Besswick Square. However, that also meant that she was less than two minutes away from probable humiliation.

As Laura stood in the silent street, one foot on the road and one on the pavement, a big gust of wind picked up and knocked her forward a few paces down Goose Gate. Now, if she was a superstitious person then now doubt Laura would have taken it as an omen, but in reality she knew it was complete and utter nonsense. Nevertheless, she hurried towards Besswick Square; a tiny part of her mind still urged her on lest whoever had sent the first gust of encouragement would not be so gentle next time.

* * *

The tarnished nameplate that announced the presence of Woolgoose Square was a bit of an understatement, really. It didn't prepare anyone for the twisted beauty of the four statues that stood proudly as a centrepiece, each locked in a fierce struggle with unseen foes, their battle forever immortalised in bronze. Whenever Laura had previously been to Woolgoose Square, she'd never liked to linger, or spend any length of time near the statues. Their expressions of filthy hate looked far too real, as if they had been plucked off a battlefield centuries ago, and deposited where they didn't belong.

In fact, nothing belonged here. The name was just a façade, hiding away a much more powerful one: Besswick Square. It was upon this that Laura looked out, eyes feasting on the terrible statues, then the dancing snowflakes, before coming to rest on the man. He stood with his back to the metal figures, staring into the sky as if there was an answer waiting for him there. His hair was plastered to his forehead and covered in a fine dusting of snow; it almost looked like he'd been crowned. The sight was so unearthly that Laura just had to stop and stare, eyes wide with wonder as she took in a scene that she was sure belonged in a film, and not right here and now in real life.

Therefore, it was most unfortunate when the man looked at her suddenly, catching Laura's gawping expression. For a second he gawped back, and then his face lit up in the huge smile that she had found so lovely earlier. "Book girl!" He called brightly, before gesturing furiously with his hands, indicating that she should join him. Hesitating for a second, she was rooted to the spot; it was only with the action of a second gesture – much more vigorous than the last – that Laura took a tentative step forward, followed by another. Soon she was crossing the Square at a steady pace, passing the statues before coming to a halt not three feet away from the man.

"Hello," she said faintly.

Considering the circumstances, he was unusually ecstatic to see her. "I knew you'd come! I was sure of it! Well, ninety-nine percent sure. Well, more like eighty-three." He paused for a second, obviously pondering his previous statement, before deciding it didn't matter. "And I was right! Good, isn't it?"

Laura said the only thing that could have been said in the situation. That thing was, "Um…"

He carried on as if he hadn't heard her, thumping his hands together either to ward off the cold, or to express his excitement. Due to the way he was acting, it seemed like the latter. "You're very interested in books, see. And you looked at me weirdly. They always follow me if they look at me weirdly."

Laura stared at him in utter bafflement for a second, before deciding to find out exactly what was going on. "I'm sorry?"

For the first time since she'd met him, the man's enthusiasm seemed to falter, and he appeared slightly ashamed of himself. "Oh dear, I haven't done this right at all, have I? I never do things in the correct order." He frowned, getting sidetracked. "I could write an instruction manual, maybe. 'How to meet and greet local citizens from numerous planets'." He spent a second longer dwelling on that train of thought, before snapping back to the present. He held his hand out. "I'm the Doctor."

She shook his hand, wondering why they weren't freezing like hers was. "I'm Laura, Laura Perry. Doctor Who?"

He shrugged affably. "Just the Doctor."

Laura shook her head disbelievingly. "Well, you can't just be…what are you a Doctor of, then?"

He was clearly thrown by the question, and floundered for a moment whilst deciding what exactly to answer. "I suppose I'm a Doctor of…stuff, really." He nodded firmly, instilling a note of confidence into his claim. "Yeah. Stuff."

"Um, right." She said, clearly regretting ever coming to Besswick Square, and slowing taking a step back, which he appeared not to notice.

"Do you happen to have the time? Snow and non waterproof watches don't seem to mix." He gestured apologetically to his wrist.

Quickly pulling up the sleeve of her coat, Laura fumbled about a bit until the watch face of her trusty Casio appeared. "Twenty past twelve."

"Ooh, good!" The Doctor said, rubbing his palms together as if he was preparing for a magic trick. "It should be open soon."

"What should be open soon?"

He stared at her as if she was a slow child. "Oh come on, Laura Perry. _The portal_."

The Doctor may as well have said ancient Mongolian hat dancing parties for all the sense he made. It was quite clear to her that he was not very sane. "The what, sorry?"

"The portal. You know, the one King Arthur comes out of. What did you expect, that he'd just suddenly appear out of nowhere?"

This was it. He was utterly stark raving mad. "I haven't the slightest clue what you're on about."

His smile disappeared completely, to be replaced by a look of incredulousness. "What do you mean you haven't got the slightest clue? That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"No, I came here because I hadn't stamped your book out!" Even as she said it she knew it was a rather flimsy excuse. It sounded stupid, and it was clear that the Doctor thought so too, judging by his expression.

"You went to the trouble of finding out about Besswick Square, and trekked across Nottingham in what could only be described as a blizzard, not so you could meet the King of all Kings, but because I hadn't followed correct book borrowing procedure?"

"…Yes."

He rolled his eyes heavenward, laughing heartily as he threw his hands up into the air. "Humans! Honestly, they're amazing and all that, but they've no idea of all the things that are going on in front of them!"

Laura didn't take kindly to being addressed this way, especially from an odd man who claimed to be a 'Doctor of Stuff' and obviously believed he was an alien. So, it was with a slightly frostier tone in which she addressed him. "Do you honestly believe King Arthur is going to appear from a portal in the middle of Nottingham?"

He peered at her through the strands of his hair, his brown eyes full of concern for her. "Are you ok? Your voice went all funny just then. Have you got a cold?"

Laura spluttered indignantly. "What? No, I have not got a cold! I want to know what is going on, thank you very much!"

He blinked owlishly at her outburst. "Alright then, if you're sure you're okay." The Doctor leant against the rump of the nearest statue, as if settling down to tell a story. "Well, there's been a bit of disturbance in the rift, and some places have drifted closer than others. Thus, the portals open. Usually they aren't much of a bother, but this one's connected to Arthur's world and that's a problem, seeing as he's a power hungry tyrant. With me so far?"

"You're insane," she told him bluntly.

"That's nice," he mumbled absently, possibly ignoring her, but more likely he hadn't heard her in the first place. "Well, he's due at twenty-eight past twelve, so if you want no part in this you'd better clear off sharpish."

Once more Laura fought a battle with her multiple layers of clothing so that she could reach her watch. "But its twenty-nine minutes past now. You see, nothing's going to happen-"

_WHUMPH!_

Both the Doctor and Laura were thrown backwards, each of them landing in a tangled heap on the floor as gasps of air howled all around them. Peering up through her arms, which she'd thrown around her face in an effort to protect herself, she saw grey streaks of mist race across the Square and throw themselves at each other, meshing together in a blurry circle that whirled around so quickly that it hurt her eyes just to look at them. They turned faster and faster, the concentric circles reminding her of things like snail shells and the howling rose in pitch until she had clamped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut.

Abruptly, the keening noise stopped, and Laura felt the Doctor's hand under the crook of her elbow as he heaved her up onto her feet again. They both stared quietly at the mass of grey, which hung in the air ominously. It seemed to have swallowed all the sound; she couldn't even hear her own breathing. Quickly, she shot a glance at the Doctor, to gauge what he was thinking. His expression was one of steely determination, but it didn't take a psychologist to see that he was enjoying himself. On the other hand, Laura felt terrified and more than a little out of her depth in this foreign situation.

Slowly, ever so slowly, something began to emerge out of the centre of the portal (she could no longer deny what it really was, because come on, it was right there!) and everything started to take shape. A horse's hoof was quickly followed by its head, and then the rest of its body. With a light thump, it jumped down from the opening and wheeled around to present itself to the two spectators.

It certainly was an astounding sight. Clearly, the horse was made out of plates of metal that screeched and scraped together with every movement of its bronzed muscles. It appeared to be covered in sigils and runes that glowed cobalt blue, and the tiny slits that passed as eyes glowed with the same coloured light.

But it was its rider that demanded the full attention of the Doctor and Laura.

The man was dressed in armour that looked the same as the metallic skin of the pseudo horse, and had a gleaming crown perched on his head at a jaunty angle. His scarred face seemed to radiate authority, and he looked down his nose in distain at the two people on the ground below him. With a voice that boomed and crashed like a squall on the sea, he addressed them. "I am Arthur, King of the Britons. What is your purpose here?"

"Fucking hell," said Laura weakly.

"Oh, do you believe me now?" asked the Doctor with a voice full of mirth. He didn't appear at all fazed with this latest development, a half smile lingering at the corners of his mouth.

"That horse is made out of metal."

"Yeah, it is."

"It's glowing blue."

"I know, I can see that."

"That isn't natural."

"Well, it isn't on Earth, but if you went to the Grillian galaxy then –"

"Silence!" Arthur roared, his voice shrill. It would have been hilariously funny to hear such a pitch come from such a burly man if it weren't for the circumstances, but Laura couldn't really help the bark of startled laughter. Arthur's brows narrowed together as his expression became stormy, and without warning he emitted a torrent of words that seemed to sing into the air. "Suscitatio vetus amicitia , quod pugna!"

With a creak and a groan that betrayed centuries of inactivity, the four statues in the centre of Besswick began to shudder and twitch, shaking off their blankets of snow with jerky movements. With a grim smile, the King turned towards Laura and the Doctor. "Soon my comrades will be back to their full strength, and their first order will be to kill you!"

Startled, and more than a little frightened, Laura turned towards the man who seemed to have all the answers. He looked down at her, his jaw set in a strong line, before reaching out and grabbing her hand. "Run for your life."

* * *

They careered around corners, footsteps sinking into the snow which seemed to have developed the consistency of flour, always tripping them or setting them off course when they least needed it. Laura couldn't see past the white flakes that still fell by the bucket load, and the only indication that she was going in the right direction was the steel grip of the Doctor's hand in hers. It felt like a lifeline as she swung around helplessly after him, never sure of their destination but fully trusting of the man in front of her.

To be honest, it was only a matter of time before their luck ran out.

The Doctor rounded a corner before skidding to a halt, causing Laura to collide with his stiff back. She untangled her limbs from around his, before peering around him to see just what was the matter.

One of the Besswick statues stood before them, all smooth planes of bronze and blue that clashed with the sharp angled blades it clutched with it's clawed hands. Jaws snapping, it advanced towards the Doctor, who pushed Laura away with a heroic shout of, "I'll hold him off!"

From her vantage point at the side of the road, Laura could see that although the Doctor was attacking the creature pluckily with what looked like a felt tip pen, he was clearly losing. It was only a matter of time before he wouldn't be able to dodge the scything blades anymore, and that wasn't something she could bear thinking about.

Frantically she cast about for a weapon, and noted a loose iron railing hanging from a stretch of fence. Tugging at it, she gritted her teeth as it refused to remove itself. "Come on!"

With one last desperate pull the bar came loose, and the momentum sent Laura flying backwards, crashing into the pair of fighters. Rather fortunately, she'd landed most heavily on the statue, and the Doctor reached over a knot of tangled arms and legs to lay the felt tip pen thing on its forehead. With a buzzing noise, the light of its eyes faded, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he helped Laura up.

"Well done. You did a good job, knocking him over like that."

"Actually, I meant to…never mind. What's that?" Laura pointed to the Doctor's weapon of choice in curiosity.

He held it up like a proud father. "It's a sonic screwdriver."

She squinted at it. "It looks like a stick with a flashing light on the end of it."

"What? A stick?" His mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish before he finally brought himself under control. "It's more complicated than that! Which reminds me, we need to talk. Do you know anywhere secluded and warm where we can discuss what just happened?"

Laura nodded firmly; she knew just the place. "Does the Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem sound alright?"

* * *

Please review, because your comments help me improve.

Thank you for reading,

~NWN


	3. Boys are an alien species

A.N: Augh, I'm sorry for the long wait. It turns out my laptop and my brain have something in common; they both like breaking.

Thanks once again to Xbakiyalo, who assisted me with all locations in Nottingham, and also inspired my to actually do proper research of my own. Yes, you read that correctly, childer monkeys.

MASSIVE thanks to my Beta, MissZoey, who not only took it upon herself to promote this story but also sent me enough emails that I always felt guilty and motivated to write more. Couldn't have done it without you lass :D

* * *

The Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem had the worthy claim of being the oldest pub in the whole of Britain, something that caused the masses of tourists visiting Nottingham to flock in droves to its general direction. Normally, if it was privacy Laura wanted, she wouldn't have gone near the place with a barge pole, but the extremist weather had ensured that the tourists had all stayed away, and it was doubtful that even the most hardy of local punters would brave blizzards for a measly pint. In fact, the only reason why she was sure it'd be open was simply that her roommate Fay worked there, and Fay desperately needed to save up and buy a car. She'd battle through any war zone you'd care to name for a pay cheque and Laura had waved her off from their flat window this very morning as she'd set off on the trek.

They'd reached the entrance by now, so she pushed the Doctor through the door first, before quickly pulling it closed behind her to keep out the bitter winds. She turned around and caught fleeting glimpses of traditional wooden benches and a sturdy fireplace, but everything else was obscured by the fact that her newfound friend had stopped dead in front of her. As he surveyed the room with an easy smile on his features, she instead scrutinised his tweed covered back, wondering if it'd be inappropriate to kick him after he'd saved her.

Then again, she'd saved _him_ just after that. With that in mind, a little shove couldn't hurt.

"Ow!" He yelped, rubbing at the small of his back where she'd walloped him one.

It wasn't like he had the right to complain anyway; he hadn't moved as much as an inch. "You're in the way! Shift a bit, and then you can gawp all you like while I get you a cuppa."

He conceded a few paces so Laura could squeeze past, and she stomped over to the empty bar while he wandered in between tables, muttering occasionally as he barked his shins on bits of furniture that somehow he never seemed to notice. She rolled her eyes rather affectionately before turning to the door that faced to the kitchens of the pub. Ignoring the service bell beside her, she instead called out a greeting in a singsong voice. "Fay! Fay, Fay! Fay Fay Fay Fay-"

"Bloody hell! I'm coming!"

The girl in question burst out of the other room, looking rather wild eyed as she hefted a rolling pin. "Do not test me, not today. Not after Byron didn't bother coming in, oh no. Now Alex the woman is having a panic attack and Alex the boy is laid down on the sofa, and…hang on, have you brought a lad?"

It didn't take a genius to figure out just who Fay was staring at, and it brought an embarrassed flush to Laura's cheeks as she leant forwards, indicating to her room mate that she didn't want to be heard. "Keep your voice down! Yeah, I brought him, but it's not how you'd think."

Fay said nothing, but raised her eyebrow so much that it nearly disappeared into her cropped brown hair.

"Seriously, it's not!" She paused a second. "Well, a little, but only on my part. But that isn't the point, Fay. Something's going on and we need a place to regroup for a bit so we can figure out what to do next."

The other girl stared back, rather intrigued. "What do you mean 'something's going on'? I can tell it's serious, you've got that look about you. Like when Haneef went missing for ages and you thought he'd gotten stabbed or something."

Laura grimaced at the memory. "Yeah, but that all ended well, didn't it? He'd just headed back to Sheffield to stay with Arnold and hadn't told us about it. I'm not sure this one will wrap up so easily."

Blue eyes met brown as they both stared each other out, wondering who was going to concede some information first. It was getting to the stage where not blinking was proving to be a problem for Laura, but she needn't have worried as Fay bit her lip and looked away. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

She shook her head. "I would if I could, but I'm not so sure of the facts myself. I'd rather not tell you now than clueing you in on something completely false. Is that ok?"

"Yeah, 'cause I know you'll tell me everything later. Do you need any help with anything?"

Laura grinned at the girl who'd been such a good friend to her ever since she'd arrived in Nottingham. They knew each other to the point that they'd speculated that they shared a brain, and often proved this by blurting out the exact same things almost always in unison. They'd shared Monty Python nights, which meant watching all the films in a row, and they'd named all the furniture in their tiny flat. There was no doubt that whatever strange things were happening, Fay would be the first to know; and if Laura asked, she'd take the secret to the grave. "Two cups of tea and a bit of privacy will be the perfect help, please."

Her roommate laughed as she grabbed some mugs and started making the tea, all the while keeping her eye on the Doctor. "I must say, I can see why you want privacy. He's fit, plain and simple."

The taller girl nodded, leaning in even further so that she could be sure he wouldn't hear her. "I know. And, this is just face value. He's got a voice like chocolate, no joke."

"My God, stop it! You're obviously smitten; you've descended into clichés. Now, when you get home tonight then I want to know everything about this whole situation you've got yourself into, but more importantly about this rather lovely gentleman who is escorting you. Deal?"

Laura nodded as she took the tray with the two cups of tea balanced precariously upon it. "Deal."

* * *

The Doctor and Laura settled at a table that was far away from the main bar and entrance, but where they could steal some benefit from the cosy fire. As they sat, the Doctor pulled out the book that started it all, a now terribly soggy copy of 'Here Lies Arthur'. He placed it down on the wood with a decisive clump, and pulled his cup of tea nearer to him quickly. "It's nice and warm in here, isn't it? Other than that, it hasn't changed since the last time I came in here."

Laura blinked once or twice, before leaning forward in interest. "Really? When?"

He scrunched up his brow and blew a strand of hair out of his eyes in an effort to remember. "Er, well, I think it might have been around 1194, when I had a pint with Robin Hood. Yeah, 1194."

She gaped in surprise at the rather ludicrous statement, not sure whether to believe him or not. It was obvious that some supernatural things were real; after all, she'd just seen a portal open and spit out King Arthur before her eyes. Then again, 1194? "Hang on, so Robin Hood's real too, then?"

"Only on Wednesdays," he said, completely seriously.

It was silent for a minute as Laura tried to find something to reply to that statement, before realising there was absolutely nothing she could say that would help it make sense. Right, moving on. "So. 1194?"

"Yep." The Doctor nodded firmly, just to emphasise his point. "I'm a time traveller, see."

"A time traveller? Is that why you knew about Besswick Square, but not Woolgoose Square? Because the records say the name was changed in the eighteen hundreds…"

He gifted her with a half smile as he tilted his head in acknowledgement. "My, you have been busy. Yes, that's right."

"Um…so…time travelling."

"Yes."

"How…how do you…do you use portals like King Arthur did too?"

This time the Doctor shook his head. "No, I use a spaceship. She's called the TARDIS."

Laura said nothing, and looked rather shell shocked. He decided to help her out a small bit. "She's brilliant, really. Time Lord technology, you see."

"Is that a brand name? Time Lord?"

He laughed out loud at this, the skin next to the corner of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Bless, that made me smile. I don't think anyone's thought of that one before. Actually, the Time Lords are – sorry, were, well, were-ish – a race of people. They grew her."

She spluttered for a second before rallying. "They grew her? A spaceship?" He nodded, and her expression morphed into one of utter confusion and more than a little disbelief. "Er, ok. Did these Time Lords let you use her then? Are you like a pilot for them or something?"

He was too busy choking on his tea in surprise to answer her question immediately. "What? No! I _am_ a Time Lord!"

Out of all the weird things he'd said that day, this one really had to take the award for the one most out there. "So what you're saying is that you're an alien?"

"Yeah."

"But…but…you look human?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Well, only externally. Internally is another matter. I've got two hearts, see."

Laura gaped. "I don't believe you."

In response to this he swiftly reached out, taking hold of her wrist and placing her hand over the left side of his chest. He waited a few seconds so she could definitely feel his heart beating, before moving her palm to the right side. Sure enough, Laura could feel the steady throb underneath her fingertips, and her eyes widened in surprise. "You're bloody joking!"

He gave her another of his lovely smiles as he took his hand away. "Nope."

Unwilling to break contact, Laura kept her hand on his chest for a few moments longer, relishing the feel of the thin shirt that was the only barrier between the pads of her fingers and _him_. However, after a few seconds she knew she couldn't hold her palm in place any longer without harmless curiosity seeming like infatuation (even though it sort of was). She removed her hand and placed it back around her cup of tea, missing the loss of contact and clearing her throat hastily to hide her embarrassment. "Alright, ok. I suppose I can believe that, I think."

He gave her that lopsided smirk again that had her thoughts flipping over in somersaults, and it was quite a struggle for her to drag herself back to hear what he was saying. "-Reeve's an alien too."

"Sorry, what?"

"Phillip Reeve, the man who wrote this book. He's an alien, like me."

The strange situation was just getting worse, but the more absurd the things that kept happening the more Laura accepted them as the truth, simply because there was no other plausible explanation. Now the news that a famous mainstream author was in fact not human just seemed to roll right off her shoulders. "So is he a Time Lord like you then?"

The Doctor shook his head vehemently. "Oh no, nothing like me. He's a Weaver of Dreams from the planet Inkblot, in the Grillian Galaxy. Basically what Weavers do is write incredibly vivid stories, and some of the people on the planet get so embroiled in them that they actually start living them. Case in point, King Arthur. Reeve wrote a story about him and suddenly a bloke named Ervanon got a bit too obsessed. Now he believes that he is King Arthur, and he's right here in real life. And it's not like some random insane person is just pretending to be him, because on the planet Inkblot if you believe something then it turns out to be true."

Okay, scratch that point about accepting everything, because that sounded a little too much beyond far fetched to be real. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but there was no magic in 'Here Lies Arthur', and yet the King we just had the good fortune of meeting seemed to be riding a robot horse that glowed bright blue?"

The Doctor looked more than a little bit reluctant to go about explaining this particular phenomenon, but he took a brave stab at it anyway. "Well, it's sort of complicated. You see, the Weavers believe things, but because they're a story telling race they embellish the tales until it's their own twisted version. Therefore, our Arthur is incredibly magic and by association somebody we should be wary of."

Ponderously, Laura hefted up the copy of 'Here Lies Arthur', being careful where she put her fingers as the soaked cover of the book came away in gritty bits every time she touched it. Flicking through, she found the 'About the Author' page. "It says here he's forty-four, born and bred in Brighton."

Out came the smirk again. "More like three hundred and four, born on Inkblot, educated on Earth."

"Really?" She asked, surreptitiously brushing the pads on the tips of her fingers against his sleeve, his skin, anything she could get her hands on. She'd taken advantage of the closeness of their hands as they both rested on the table near the teacups, and the initiative had worked reasonably nicely. He didn't seem to be too bothered by it, which was always a bonus. "How do you know him then?"

He made a rumbling "Er…" sound for a second before answering, and the expression on his face was so agreeable and charming that Laura had incredibly random thoughts about wrapping him in blankets and force feeding him a good hot meal. "Well, I met him on Inkblot a while back, and he told me that something was going to happen in Besswick Square. Then he said something about blancmanges, but I believe he may have been joking."

"...Right."

They sat in silence for a few more seconds, before the Doctor pulled back his hands so he could lift his tea and tip the dregs down the back of his throat. Laura had a few moments of panic where she wondered whether he actually had to do that or really wanted to get away from her, before deciding there was nothing she could do about it and tried to moved everything forward instead. "What's the plan of action then, Doc? I'm a bit in between the lines of inspiration at the mo, so it's up to you."

"We have to go to the caves under Nottingham Castle," He said promptly.

More than a little surprised at his decisiveness, Laura took the bait. "Why?"

"I saw the leaflet behind you. My reckoning is that King Arthur will come and find us no matter where we are, so it might as well be somewhere away from potential civilian casualties." He paused a second, before continuing. "And, cave fights are really cool."

She rolled her eyes at him, secretly pleased with his reasoning. "Fair enough. How are we getting to the caves then? I'm assuming the statue people are out still out there, and want our blood."

"Most likely. Do you know where the nearest cave entrance is?"

Laura blinked. "How would I know?"

"Because…you live in Nottingham?"

She snorted in derision as she pushed back the chair, before standing up. "Oh yeah, I live in Nottingham. Therefore I must know all about every square inch of secret cave systems that spread over the entire city."

The Doctor didn't look hurt at all, and in fact seemed quite amused. "Easy on the sarcasm, Laura Perry. Where are you going?"

She gestured towards the bar. "I'm going to ask Fay. She'll be more help."

* * *

And indeed she was. "You're joking right?"

By this time Laura was curled up on a bar stool, resting her vocal chords as well as her feet; it had taken a considerable amount of shouting to get Fay to reappear from the back room. "Er, no. What are you on about?"

"Everyone knows that the cellar of The Ye Olde Trip is part of the cave systems. In fact, these particular tunnels lead right to the Castle."

"You're having me on, it can't be that simple."

Fay shot her an exasperated look, before leaning forward and rapping her knuckles on Laura's forehead. Ignoring the wailing cry of 'Ow!' rather effectively, she continued with her speech. "I'm not having you on. Do you know why? Because you helped me write the description of the caves that we put on the pub's official website. You cannot be that forgetful."

Laura frowned. "If I remember correctly, I was also programming the Sky Plus box at the time. How can you expect me to recall anything mildly trivial when I'm doing something difficult like that?"

"Hush, you. No excuses. Look, just go down into the cellar, past the old cockfighting pit and the single cell gaol, and continue going." Fay hefted two torches from under the counter, plonking them down into Laura's outstretched hands. "Now go, quickly and quietly. We're not meant to let patrons see the cellars."

Laura took the torches with a word of thanks, before doing a double take. "Cockfighting pit? Single cell gaol? What the hell was going on down there?"

Fay shrugged. "God knows what the people of the past were thinking. Now, I want your arse back by midnight or I'm calling the cavalry, alright?"

"Yes Mother-ow! Stop throwing things at me!"

* * *

Reviews are epic, because they tell me what I'm doing wrong so I can be better, or praise me so I feel happy, which causes me to churn out chapters like a...chapter churning machine. Yeah.

If you want to leave a review but don't know what to say, why don't you answer this simple but rather important question: Who would win in an arm wrestle, Matt Smith or David Tennant? Let me know!

~NWN


	4. Beware the clockwork soldiers

A.N: First off, I AM SO VERY VERY SORRY. I had no intention about leaving it this long to update, but unfortunately procrastination proved otherwise. I won't even make excuses, I simply shouldn't have waited this long.

Ugh, enough of that.

Thank you to Xbakiyalo for the Nottingham geography lessons, and a MASSIVE cheers to my beta, MissZoey. She sent me a really shouty all caps email that _finally_ kicked my arse into gear.

Disclaimer - I don't own Doctor Who, and nor do I own the life of Phillip Reeve. Sorry, Phillip.

* * *

The first few tunnels leading from the dank cellar of the Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem were brightly (if a little crudely) lit with a surplus of light bulbs. Unfortunately, the Doctor and Laura had now ventured into the tunnels under Nottingham castle, and the latter was feeling more than a bit nervous now that the only illumination came from their handheld – and let us be honest here – not that brilliant torches.

"What's that?"

He sighed, though managed to answer her patiently. "Me. It was me."

There was a pause as Laura listened intently. "No it wasn't! You're just saying that to keep me calm, aren't you? There's something in here with us that's terrible, and you need me not to panic so you're keeping it quiet –"

"Laura!" He snapped.

"…Yes?"

"There is absolutely nothing there. If I'd have wanted you not to panic then it seems I've failed miserably, doesn't it? Look, I had just tripped over a rock, nothing sinister."

Feeling slightly better for the reassurance, however irritably given, Laura stepped out along the rocky caves with a great deal more confidence. She kept one hand running against the rough wall as she clutched the torch with the other, just to be on the safe side.

If we're quite honest, only the most brave could walk through these tunnels without a twinge of fear, as the shadows cast by the torches were seemingly feral shapes, twisting and turning in the corner of the lookers eye like lithe dancers. To make everything worse, the temperature was below freezing, and it was only the big winter coat that Laura had put on as a defence against the snow that kept her from shivering with something more than cold.

Deciding that she'd rather hear someone's voice - brusqueness and creepy echoes as well - than endure a minute's more silence, she put a question to the Doctor fairly cheerfully. "So…what are we going to do next?"

This simple question not only seemed to knock him for six, but also appeared to baffle him completely; thus he spent the next few moments gnawing on his lower lip in the gloom of the torchlight. "Well, I hadn't really planned out the next bit entirely. I'm actually hoping that King Arthur will come to us and then move events on quite a lot more quickly. That ok with you?"

His words were met with a gaping silence so absolute that the Doctor had to swing around and check that Laura was still behind him. As it was, she had stopped dead, and was staring at him in a mix of incredulousness and fury – an expression you would never wish to encounter. "You purposely took me down a dark and rather frightening tunnel, just to seek out a murderous and frankly insane man who is under the impression that he's King Arthur? Are you honestly telling me that's your plan?"

"Um, yes. Yes it is." He blinked striginely at her a few times. "Er, why are you waving that torch around? No, don't hit me, AUGH!"

* * *

Mr. Edward Shrike was not a particularly bad man. He drank more than his fair share; indeed, he drank more than most. And you can't forget his tendency to get into a bar brawl, after all. The shouty man at The Fox and Crown certainly can't, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, apart from all that sort of thing, he wasn't really too terrible at all. For example, today he'd gone all the way out into the snow just to get some Marmite and carrot sticks for his wife, who was expecting twins and therefore was allowed to have strange cravings like this. He wasn't even complaining about it either, for he was instead thinking about when his new son and daughter were going to be born, and whether he should make a trip to the scrap yard and find something that he could fashion into a sledge for them. He wanted to be able to enjoy the next spot of bad weather with them in a traditional way, and this idea seemed to tick all the right boxes.

He also wondered if his wife would murder him if he brought up the name Theodore, but between you, the post box and me, it wasn't the wife he needed to worry about.

Ed was just crossing the snow-smothered street when the first Besswick statue caught up with him. For a second or two the man stared with mounting horror at the monstrosity of blue and brass before him, and he backed away slowly and tremulously in an effort to distance himself from the statue.

Quite unfortunately, there were another two sliding and creaking into place behind him.

With hissing breaths and clicking knife blades that scraped and scratched at each other like the kick of a dying spider's legs, they scuttled towards Ed like some insect-like a harbinger of death. To his credit, he didn't drop his precious cargo of Marmite and carrot sticks, and instead tucked both into a cavernous pocket of his parka rather distractedly. His eyes were fixed on the terrible creatures, as he wondered whether he'd gone snow blind because there was absolutely no way in hell that what he was seeing could be real, right?

Regrettably for Mr. Edward Shrike, they were very much alive.

* * *

Down below in the depths of Nottingham, a strange conversation was occurring.

"Did you do this? Was this you?" Laura said, one hand shielding her eyes as she stared out into the tunnel. Then: "It's ruddy glowing, isn't it?"

The Doctor kneaded his forehead as he collected his thoughts. "Why on Earth would you think that I'd done this?" He huffed out a breath that he'd apparently been holding before tackling another explanation. "And yes, it is glowing. Quite a bit, actually."

"Well…you're alien."

"Yes."

"That over there is obviously not human."

"Also yes."

"Therefore it is alien, and thus possible that you created it."

"Who do you think I am, Tommy Cooper?"

Laura smirked a little, giving him a mischievous look. "I reckon you'd look striking in a fez."

The Doctor looked taken aback for a second or two, before flashing the stunning (and now trademark) lovely grin. "You know, the planet Orgun has a fez-wearers committee. I'm on it."

She shook her head, a long damp strand thwacking against her cheeks in the process. "I don't believe you." Laura glared at his self-confident expression for a little longer before making her statement more forceful. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

Unbuttoning his suit jacket with a flourish, the Doctor reached in and rummaged about in one of the numerous inside pockets. "You wait and see, Laura Perry." And so she did wait and see, specifically focussing on where the man's shirt was wet and had thus gone partially see through. Hey, he might not be human, but she sure was.

"Here, hold these." Quickly he thrust the pen thing (which he had called something like a sonic screwdriver) into her hands, followed by what looked like an identity card. "Careful with that, it's psychic paper. Never know what you might see if you look."

Finally, after what seemed like an age, the parade of strange things in the Doctor's pockets (one of which looked rather worryingly like a Tribble) began to dry up, and finally a rusty medal with a piece of holographic paper was pushed into Laura's outstretched hands. She turned it into the light and a fez wearing Doctor appeared, giving a two thumbs up salute in her general direction. "So you were seriously not joking?" Her eyes flickered from the real man back to the tiny picture again. "Christ, I'm just going to have to start taking whatever you say as the truth, aren't I?"

The man in question treated Laura to a self-satisfied laugh before sweeping the contents of his coat out of her hands and back into a random pocket, tucking things in haphazardly. "That, Laura Perry, is what you must do. Always trust a doctor, you know, because we're always so-"

"Hem, hem."

Laura looked around wildly, her eyes gleaming in the dimness. "Oh God, Umbridge isn't real to, is she?"

With a roll of his eyes, the Doctor pushed past her. "Really, Harry Potter characters can't be real. All the stuff they get up to simply isn't plausible."

"You can't have just said that, you bloody hypocrite." She said, glaring at him.

He ignored her, and proceeded to address the haze of unnatural light that had appeared in the tunnel before them a few minutes earlier. "Evenin', Phillip. How do?"

"Oh, just shut up and enter the light!" Came the stiff reply, to which the Doctor shrugged his shoulders with a smile before grabbing Laura's jacket and doing just that.

* * *

The effect was basically like being hugged by a large ball of wool, Laura decided. Yes, a large ball of wool somehow crossed with a sheep that had been genetically modified to be incredibly poofy. Indeed.

Was that a floor rising up to meet her?

"Ooft!"

Why yes, it was.

Slowly standing up, she brushed herself off and took in her surroundings. "What on Earth is going on?"

"We're not on Earth, Laura." Was the Doctor's smart-aleck reply, and she wheeled around to face him, only just aware of his presence. As usual, he looked ruffled but dashingly so. Damn him.

The girl spluttered for a second or two, before rallying. "Where are we then? And, why am I wearing a yellow sundress?"

"I believe I have the answer to both those inquiries," came a voice, which floated down from a higher deck of wherever they were standing. Laura couldn't really tell, due to the lack of reference points. There just seemed to be an abundance of corrugated metal, which was really no help at all. "Just climb up the ladder to your right, and we can discuss this matter in a polite manner. Why, we could even indulge ourselves with some tea, wot?"

Graciously stepping back, the Doctor very chivalrously allowed Laura to proceed up the ladder first, but she could have really done without that. I mean, please, who wants to be in a floaty dress, directly above someone who said floaty dress wearer happened to like very much, even though the object of interest was a rather annoying gentleman with an odd streak a mile wide. Oh well, at least she'd shaved her legs.

After what seemed like an age or two, she finally heaved herself up onto the platform, to be confronted with a sight that appeared to be out of a storybook.

For one thing, they were on an airship that was suspended several hundred metres from terra firma. For the other thing, a man with green spots was seated quite comfortably at a table that appeared to be set for afternoon tea, with scones, triangular sandwiches and all.

Taking one look at the expression of his companion, the Doctor - who had just reached the top of the ladder far more gracefully than she had - decided to step in and help. "Laura, meet Phillip Reeve. Phillip, this is Laura Perry."

They shook hands, and she stared unblinkingly at his skin blemishes.

Rolling his eyes, the writer gave her permission. "Go on, ask. Might as well get it out of the way."

Taking a deep breath, Laura tried to phrase her thoughts in what she hoped was an inoffensive way. "Well, the pictures of you...they don't...they don't have...you're not..."

"Spit it out girl, we haven't got long."

"You're spotty," she blurted, and the Doctor stifled a shout of laughter.

"Oh really?" Phillip Reeve said, quite dryly. "I'm spotty. Goodness, what to do!" He raised an eyebrow at her sheepish expression before continuing. "This is my true form, though I cannot show it on your planet as I fear it would attract far too much unwanted attention, don't you think dear?" At her nod, he gave a satisfied 'humphing' noise. "Glad that's settled. Now sit down, the Earl Grey is getting cold."

They sat, and so followed a few seconds of silence wherein the tea was poured, and scones were buttered. Finally, Phillip was satisfied with the arrangements and began his explanation. "Right, now to the earlier question of where we are. Our present location is on the airship Calunetti, hovering above the track marks made by Birmingham city. Do you know what I mean by this, or shall I have to explain it?"

Laura shook her head, confident that finally all of her hours spent at the Thwaite and Morvin fiction library hadn't gone to waste. "I know what you mean. From your Mortal Engines books, yeah? Where all the cities have been uprooted and placed on caterpillar tracks, so they move."

Phillip huffed, but nonetheless nodded his acquiescence. "I would have described it far more eloquently, though you seem to have covered the main points. Yes, we are basically in an imagining of the world from one of my book series, mostly for your own protection. It is the only place I have that I am still in control in, after all. Especially after my 'Here Lies Arthur' universe was overrun by those foul and uncouth impostors." The writer went off at a tangent, chuntering to himself about disrespectful miscreants and suchlike, while the Doctor surveyed the situation with amusement.

"Um, Mr. Phillip...er, I mean, Mr. Reeve...what about the sundress?"

"What? Oh right, yes, the sundress. I couldn't have you clomping around in that distasteful outfit you were wearing previously. For goodness' sake, you were wearing jeans! Heavens, at least the yellow accentuates your eyes rather favourably, don't you agree Doctor?"

Clearing his throat, the Doctor looked quite uncomfortable. "Yes, yes. Erm, I meant...yes."

"Honestly, his way with words is appalling, don't you think dear?" Asked Phillip conspiratorially, leaning nearer to Laura. "He dresses dapperly though, I must say."

"Phillip," the Doctor said, rather suddenly, "we're running out of time. The rift's shifting."

"Bugger," breathed the writer, before collecting himself. "Right, down to business. The statues, the ones at Besswick, they used to be human. Or at least humanoid. However, to preserve themselves over the test of time, they were turned into clockwork and metal creatures. The only way that they can reach their full potential again is if they take human body parts and craft them to their own."

The Doctor winced, lost in a far off memory. "It's like Madame de Pompadour all over again."

Phillip shook his head. "Don't be silly man, there the clockwork workers used the body parts to repair their ship, not themselves."

Laura risked a quick glance between the two of them. "Sorry, what?"

The author waved off her question with a flick of his hand, before ploughing on with his explanation. "Anyway, this pseudo Arthur, he's the opposite. His brain is human, but his body is clockwork. He started off that way, see? This causes him some problems which we can take advantage of, though. It means that if he comes into contact with anything fully clockwork, then he will be killed. His human cranium cannot function anymore, and thus, if you accomplish something like turning the Besswick statues against him, then you will definitely win the war." Phillip paused, possibly to take a breath, but most likely for dramatic effect. "And believe me, this will be a war if you do not succeed."

The Doctor and Laura exchanged worried glances, before the latter put forth a query. "Is that the only way to kill him then? With something clockwork?"

He nodded. "Yes. Have you noticed though, what the weather's like in your world?"

"Not bloody hard to," Laura mumbled, causing the Doctor to smirk.

Shooting a disdainful glance in her direction, Phillip continued regardless. "Well, it is far too snowy for certain things like bell ringing to go ahead, yes? Well, bell ringing is basically cogs and clockwork, and hearing a noise like that would no doubt knock out the bad King Arthur for a few moments."

"Really?"

"Indeed. You could take advantage of that, you know." Leaning down, the writer reached under a table and pulled out a long cloth wrapped package, before handing it to Laura. "You'd better take this dear, so you will not be truly defenceless."

Pulling off the wrapping, the girl revealed a brilliantly blue sword that glinted alluringly in the light. Phillip stared at it fondly for a few moments. "Ah yes, the clockwork sword. I borrowed that idea off of an Inkblot friend of mine. You might know him: Garth Nix?"

As they all admired the sword that Laura now saw was covered in miniscule golden cogs, the teapot began to whistle rather suddenly. The Doctor rubbed a hand across his eyes, looking suddenly weary. "Someone has died, haven't they?"

The author nodded in conformation, a sad smile playing across his features. "A bloodless battle was far more than we could hope for, wasn't it? Right, I believe that's your cue to leave. I'll be sure to drop you near to where...it happened, so you can plan on from there. Sit tight!"

* * *

When Laura landed headfirst in the snow after another round of the woollen feeling, she felt distinctly pleased that she was back in her own clothes and not the rather inadequate yellow sundress. This feeling soon dissipated, however, when the Doctor hauled her up and set off running, and she tried her hardest not to let the clockwork sword she was clutching swing around and hit him. "Where are we going?"

"Following the coppery smell!" came the mystifying reply.

When they finally stumbled across Edward Shrike, there was not much left. Despite the mass of blood there was little body to show for it, and Laura realised that what Phillip had described earlier must have happened. The sight was truly horrific, and to keep down the sickening feeling rising in the back of her throat, Laura turned away and instead focussed on the smashed jar of Marmite that was strewn across the snow.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry," The Doctor muttered, crouching down next to the body.

They stood quietly like this for a few moments, before he rose again, turning to her with steely determination. "I'm going after the statues. They are the key to this, after all."

Laura turned to look into his face, trying to read the stone expression set there. "How will you be able to get them on our side?"

He shrugged. "I've got the sonic screwdriver. I can program them." His gaze turned softer for a second as he concentrated on her again. "It'll be dangerous, too dangerous. I want you to get away from here; find somewhere safe. Don't come looking for me, d'you hear?"

With these parting words the Doctor turned tail, loping off into the distance with a speed Laura knew she couldn't keep up with. Forcing her ragged breathing into a more regular pattern, she worried her lip as she thought it out. "He told me I couldn't go looking for him. So, I won't. I'll go looking for _Arthur_."

Quickly, she set off in the opposite direction to the Doctor, one hand clutching the sword and the other holding her coat closed against the wind.

And, from an airship many worlds away, Phillip Reeve watched the body of Edward, before turning his mind to his Mortal Engines books. Unbeknownst to anyone, the character of Shrike was based off a family man and his Marmite.

* * *

A.N: You know that Matt Smith's first episode as the Doctor is broadcasting on Easter? Can you guess you will be out of the country and therefore unable to watch it then?

That's right, ME!

To help stave off the mournful and self-pitying feelings, I need your reviews! You see, I like reading them and finding out if I'm doing well or not. I'll gladly accept any criticism you throw my way too :)

Thanks for reading,

~NWN


	5. Believe in talking horses

A.N: Erm...well. Hello again. Been a while, hasn't it? I'm so sorry that you had to wait for so long, but rest assured, THIS STORY WILL BE FINISHED DAMNIT

Thanks to Xbakiyalo, who once upon a time (was it really that long ago?) gave me some invaluable pointers on the geography of Nottingham.

Also a big thanks to MissZoey, my beta, who not only spell checked like a grammar ninja but who also didn't laugh at me when I told her rather sheepishly that I'd lost the memory stick.

FINALLY: Oh my God he had a fez, an actual fez! Wow, I must be a mind reader...

* * *

The Doctor had a plan. If we're talking the truth here, then I'd probably just have to tell you that it wasn't a brilliant plan, but nevertheless it was a _plan_ and thus the Doctor was willing to give it a try. It consisted of him running around the streets of Nottingham, yelling a garble of words at the top of his voice.

Well, I told you it wasn't brilliant.

Whilst his plan was simple his thoughts were most definitely not. He was in fact berating himself mentally, disgusted with the way he'd sort of left Laura in the middle of the street next to the mutilated body of Edward Shrike and a cracked jar of Marmite. Not entirely the gentlemanly character he'd built up for himself, and certainly not the depiction of the dashing hero that he'd wanted Laura to be aware of. Not that it mattered to him what she thought, anyway.

With a swift clearing of his throat, the Doctor quickly changed the subject of his thoughts. The point of interest: the Besswick statues. Somehow, he had to convince them to turn on the creature that had not only made them all powerful killing machines, but who was also their King, and someone who they followed with such unwavering loyalty that it was frankly quite frightening.

Quickly skidding around a parked car, the Doctor overbalanced heavily before clipping the wing mirror. This sent him into a tailspin that ultimately ended with him laid face down on the solid pavement with a mouthful of dirty snow and painfully soggy socks.

So, all in all, the plan was going altogether smoothly and really rather well, he decided, as the Doctor pulled himself up off of the floor and back onto near enough level ground. With that he set off, weaving about in an odd pattern and limping slightly due to his wet trousers.

* * *

To say that Laura was holding the clockwork sword wrong would have been a gross understatement. If any professional sword wielders happened upon her as she set about on her journey they would either fall about laughing their heads off, or sit down and cry at the blasphemy that was in motion. You see, Laura had learnt how to hold a sword by watching the Lord of the Rings, and therefore was holding the contraption up in a sort of blocking, parrying stance that was nowhere near a replication of Aragorn's movements. In fact, she looked like a three year old with a stick. Well, it was the thought that counted.

At least she had a specific destination in mind, which is more than can be said for the Doctor.

She'd been listening intently to what Phillip Reeve had been saying, because it's not everyday that you meet a fantastic author who just happens to be an alien. And, she'd tuned in quite carefully to his description of the weaknesses of King Arthur, as she rather valued her life and would very much like to know how to defend it. So, when Phillip had touched upon the subject of clockwork towers and church bells having a detrimental effect on the pseudo king of old, she'd had the first few inklings of an idea. However, before she could share it with the Doctor, he'd waffled something or other about danger and then hared off on a mad mission that would most likely get him killed. So, it was up to her.

There was a memory she had, of the summer before; herself, Fay, Fay's boyfriend Joe, Haneef and Jerry, all sat in a place called the Arboretum Park. It was the closest public park to the city centre, and also the oldest in Nottingham, making it a rather fitting showdown place, if you take time to think about it. They'd all come to spend the day away from studying, but Jerry and Laura both suffered from hay fever, and the garden certainly was abundant with flowers. So, they'd taken refuge under the Chinese Bell Tower in a corner of the park, and griped about the pollen count for a great deal of time. But the most important thing was that Laura had reached up and pushed the bell, though the mechanisms were stiff with rust and no sound was made. Jerry had turned to her and said, "You're a weakling, Perry. If it's given a good tug I'm sure it will come loose and make such a crashing sound that the whole of the park will hear it."

They hadn't done that, of course. The bell tower was a relic that didn't need that kind of treatment. Unfortunately, it was the only bell tower nearby that she could think of, and it seemed as if she had no other choice.

In fact, she was so certain it would work, this plan of hers. She was thinking about striking the bell with the sword, letting it make a such an almighty din that King Arthur would hear it and be well and truly laid low, and finally driving the clockwork blade into his heart in a theatrical swooping motion. Laura was even musing on all the gloating words she'd send the Doctor's way when something slammed into her with such ferocious force that she was not only knocked off her feet but also flung into the air.

Crashing into the ground, Laura could only watch in terror, taking deep wheezing breaths, as King Arthur's mechanical horse reared up in front of her.

* * *

"No, listen!" cried the Doctor, flailing his arms desperately at the Besswick statues. "He doesn't care for you; you're nothing to him! If it'd benefit him he'd kill you at a moment's notice!"

One of the statues cocked the upper half of Edward Shrike's eye in his direction. The orb, which was missing it's eyelid, oozed in a peculiar manner before the creature's head snapped straight again. "Ngh, arg, gurnle," it said.

The Doctor winced, stepping back a little. For not only were the words gibberish, they were spoken at great volume. "Sorry, what did you say? I didn't quite catch you the first time."

Another statue clunked forward, moving its brother aside with a quick roll of the shoulders. It opened its mouth to speak and this time actual words came out, albeit in a scratchy voice that resembled something like a badly abused rusty gate. "Forgive South, he did not get the share of the vocal chords. May I interpret his answer instead?"

"Oh, please do," came the amiable reply, and he waited quite tentatively.

"Go away, cretin." The statue said, the voice flat and monotonous.

The Doctor blinked before throwing his hands into the air. The four statues watched, motionlessly and uninterestedly, while he hopped up and down on the spot, spitting out bits and pieces of words that he couldn't shift past his tongue due to the indignation he felt. "Wha-but, that's not...well-"

Finally, after half a minute or so, the Doctor had gained his composure enough to straighten his shoulders and send a glare towards the statues. "Well, you're one to talk! How can you not see that all you do is follow Arthur's orders, but never gain anything as a reward? You were turned into statues for hundreds of years and yet you're still loyal to him? That's pretty much the definition of a cretin, if you ask me."

One of the statues that had not spoken previously thumped forward, Edward Shrike's left arm swinging slightly with its motions. The fact that the arm was on backwards was a completely different story. "I am East. I would die for the King. My life is forfeit."

"Hyngh," Said the one called South, and the Doctor presumed that it was expressing agreement with the statement.

Groaning, the Doctor thumped his screwed up fist into the side of his temple, desperately trying to think of convincing words that would make the four statues see sense. "Honestly! Can't there be anything I can say that will make you understand just what idiots you are? Anything that will convince you to agree with me?"

As one, the four metal (and slightly fleshy) heads turned to each other, obviously engaging in some form of mental communication. After a clunk and a whistle or two, the only sculpture that had not spoken opened his jaw, which seemed to be attached to his cheek plates by a set of stringy muscle fibre. "Well," he mumbled in a rough baritone, "I suppose you could keep on talking for a while. We'd like to see if your vocal chords will be adequate for South, as he is rather picky I'm afraid."

"Oh dear..."The Doctor sighed, as the statues converged on him yet again.

* * *

"ARGHHHHHHHHH-"

"Would you please stop screeching? I can barely hear myself think!"

With a self-pitying squeak, Laura let the noise trail off, before forcing her clenched eyelids open. Two flaring nostrils were mere centimetres from her face. After blinking for a few seconds, Laura thought it in her best interests to close her eyes again.

"Oh, really, I'm not going to bite you know!" Came the affronted - and definitely female - voice that was hovering above her. "Now stop being silly and open those eyes, missy!"

Obediently she did so, confronting herself with what appeared to be a horse's muzzle. Albeit a metal horse's muzzle, of course. "Erm, well...are you going to kill me?"

The horse's bright blue eyes widened, which was quite a disconcerting sight considering that Laura was looking down a long nose. "Why would I do that? I'm here to help you, you silly girl. Now we haven't got much time, so look lively and get up!"

Carefully, Laura pulled herself out from between two seemingly very solid front legs, before standing up shakily. After an awkward second where she stared at the horse and the horse looked kindly back at her, she suddenly remembered the clockwork sword. Quickly stooping low again, she scooped the weapon up and held it in what she thought was a vaguely threatening gesture. "What do you want?"

The horse, well, snickered at her actions, the copper wire forelock bobbing up and down with mirth. "Really, there's no need for that! We're all on the same side here, and I'm sure your chances of survival would be much greater if you let me take you to wherever you were haring off to."

After blinking in shock for a few moments, Laura managed to scrabble around in the back corners of her mind for the remaining threads of her composure, eventually finding enough to pass for mild bravery. "How do I know you aren't working for King Arthur? That this isn't just a trick?"

At the mention of the King, the horse snorted derisively, tossing her head about in distaste. "That cruel man? I've been under his slavery for nigh on one hundred years now, and I have no loyalty to that barbarian!" She snorted again, before flicking her neck up in a pointing gesture. "Look at my flank! He whipped me so hard that he left marks!"

Tiptoeing around the impressive bronze shoulders, Laura lay her hand against the scratches on the horse's haunches, feeling the welts that had been left there. Swallowing thickly, she turned back to face the creature's head. "I believe you."

Now, Laura had ridden a horse before. In fact, she'd become quite good at it, having taken numerous lessons in her youth. Unfortunately her instructor, Sarah, had never really prepped her for a situation where she would be riding a fast paced metal horse though a city covered in copious amounts of snow, and therefore you might say that she was struggling slightly.

Okay, so she was clinging to the martingale in terror, alright?

"The Arboretum, you say?" Puffed the horse as she clattered over the cobbled streets, winding quickly around minor obstacles such as telegraph poles and phone boxes. "What a lovely name! In fact, it's almost as nice as mine!"

Laura's breathing was laboured as she struggled to ask the rather obvious question. "Oh really? What's your name?"

"Gladys," she said, a touch proudly.

"Ah...how...lovely."

"Isn't it?" Gladys boasted as her hooves swept easily over the icy ground. "Now, I want you to go over the plan again, please."

Laura tried to settle more comfortably into the saddle, which was invariably made out of metal and therefore also quite chilly. She had clamped the clockwork sword under her knee to stop herself from losing it, and she had an unsettling feeling that the blade was glaring at her for it's less that dignified positioning. Shaking her head, she tried to get herself back on track. "Well, we find the clock tower in the park, and you help me ring the bell. Then, I stab King Arthur with the sword. Sorted."

Gladys harrumphed, obviously not keen. "What if he's not there?"

"...what?"

"I said, what if King Arthur's not there?"

Laura winced. "I heard perfectly, I just didn't understand."

"If he isn't present when we ring the bell, then we have to go and find him. By the time we do, he'll have probably woken up again." She changed stride mid-canter and set off down another lane, bearing right. "What will we do then?"

"Erm," said Laura, sounding mildly hysterical. "I don't know, I hadn't planned that bit."

As if sensing the rising panic in her passenger's voice, Gladys replied in a kindly tone. "Don't you worry dear, I'm sure it'll all work out for the best."

Deep down, neither of them fully believed that.

* * *

"Come and get me, you metal blockheads!" roared the Doctor as he sprinted away from the lumbering statues, all of whom were in dogged pursuit.

"What did he say?" whined East, as his legs loped forward on a combination of four of Mr. Shrike's toes and a number of carrots that had been intended for the unfortunate man's wife. "Only my eardrums aren't that complete; they can't listen over long distances."

"Gryngle vurg anwin hurr." Said South.

"What?" East snapped as they ran after the man in tweed. "Speak up!"

Meanwhile, the Doctor ran full pelt onto one of the remaining sections of Nottingham canal, skittering over the frozen water in an attempt to reach the other side. Once he had managed this feat, he turned and faced the oncoming statues that had followed him onto the ice.

Now, some important facts here. Metal is heavy. Clockwork stops working when it encounters water. Got that? Good.

With an almighty cracking noise, the ice screeched and finally broke under the weight of the statues, sending them plunging into the depths of the canal. All of them chattered and wailed in agony as the Doctor watched dispassionately, and one by one they fell silent.

The last one to go was South, who looked at the Doctor with hatred in his metal blue eyes. "Grhn uwhyu!"

"I'm sure I would be terrified," said he, "if I knew what that meant."

* * *

A.N: This story is nearly finished. There is only one (possibly two) chapter left to go. I had planned a sequel which will most likely be written, but please understand that between writing fanfic and studying for exams, it's always going to be exams.

Thanks to everyone who has sent in reviews so far, as when they pop up on my Blackberry's inbox I get an instant happiness boost, not to mention a jolt of motivation ;)

~NWN


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